That friend, K, is someone I had never met in real life before. She and I are on the same online support group for infertile women. She lives in Connecticut, works in New York City, and desperately wants a baby. (and is one of the most generous women I've ever met in my entire life.) My other friends that were invited are on the same board, all with the diagnosis of infertility.
It's a funny thing, this infertility. It messes with your head in a horrible way. I read an article today that mentioned a sentence that makes a lot of sense- infertiles are mourning the death, may it be, of children you'll never meet. It's a chronic mourning that is a constant reminder of what you are going through. The article I read was all about how women won't talk about what is going on- it's like the silence of breast cancer years ago. (click here to read the article if you want.)
However, on my board, as I call it, we are totally open about our battle. So much so that I could tell you about the uterus of any friend on there. We are constantly analyzing each other's bodies and giving advice and cheerleading, and shoulders to cry on. It's one amazing group of women. I can't even begin to explain to you how close we are, it's just one of those things you have to experience for yourself. Every time we get a new member, the first posts are always, "Welcome!! So sorry you have to be here, but glad you are because this is the best group of women ANYWHERE!" And it's so true. We are sorry we have to have new members because this is something I wouldn't wish on anyone. But if you want to find support, our tight-knit group is definitely the place to go.
That's why, this weekend while meeting everyone, not a single one of us said, "it's so good to meet you!" We realized that halfway through the weekend. Not ONE of us ever said that to another, and it was totally subconsciously. We didn't feel like we were meeting someone- because we've known each other's intricate details of life for so long. It truly felt like we were seeing an old friend again. Which was true- we ARE old friends, just hadn't been able to hug each other yet.
And lots of hugging was done. And talking. And gabbing. And talking about our husbands. (my friend K's husband is from South Africa- sooooo glad I got to meet him- he has an accent to die for, is so charming, and is into photography, too!! I was lucky to see some of his work from when he was a ranger in the South African bush, and my jaw dropped while gasps came out several times- his work is BEAUTIFUL. Have you ever seen a close up photo of an animal ripping up another animal, with blood spraying everywhere and a kidney flying in the air? I have now!) Some of us are lucky enough to be mothers and we talked about our children. Which we were assured by K that it wasn't bothering her- it was actually giving her hope that it was going to happen to her some day. We rubbed the belly of my great friend T who is pregnant for the first time after FIVE YEARS of trying. We ate. And ate. And ate. We shopped 'til we dropped. We did sightseeing in the Big Apple. We walked. We rode trains and taxis. We laughed. I crossed 4 states off my list of states I've never visited before.
And through all of this, I healed a little. It wasn't intentional, it just happened. I no longer feel the mourning as bad as I have lately. Of course, I'm still quite sad that my body isn't giving ME the choice to choose how big our family should be. But I'm OK with that, I think. My friend K put it best when she said that after this weekend, the little pieces in her that were missing are now complete. These are the best friends a girl could ask for. Now I'm just ticked that they all live so far away. :)
I will always be infertile. That part of me will never, ever go away. I will always be sad that my body won't work as it's supposed to. But the gaping hole it has left in my heart is now a tiny bit smaller.
K, T, L, M, G, and S, thank you. Thank you for being my friends. Thank you for helping me heal. Thank you, for being YOU.
